Those nukes are no longer about survival
It’s rare to be eating at a decent establishment, and feel the need to say “those nukes ain’t no longer about survival!” Yet, there I was, in the middle of yet another dinner time discussion on nuclear weapons over mushroom risotto. This time though, it was different. Someone was listening.
For the past three decades, the notion that North Korea’s nuclear weapons were about survival, made sense. First, they offset the vast conventional superiority of the United States and South Korea. Second, in light of the steadily dropping number of states in the Axis of Evil, they effectively deterred any attempt at regime change. Over the last year, survival seems less of a priority.
[As an aside, it should be noted, some academics and commentators have long argued North Korea’s nukes were never about mere survival - I was never one of them, and I bet they’re feeling pretty cocky now, as I rehash their arguments.]
Pyongyang’s deepening cooperation with Russia, and its steady improvement in conventional weapons systems, marks a transformation: from a state that relies on nuclear terror to compensate for weakness, to one that increasingly sees itself capable of contesting strength with strength.
Over the coming years, this transformation may prove more destabilizing than the nuclear breakout that preceded it.
When North Korea conducted its first nuclear test in 2006, the logic was clear. The country could not match the South’s economy, its advanced air force, or the firepower of the U.S.–ROK alliance. After Iraq and Libya, nuclear weapons were the great equalizer — they ensured the regime’s survival against external intervention.
In practice, this strategy worked. North Korea’s nuclear capability made a pre-emptive attack by the United States unthinkable. Even during the most volatile moments — the 2010 shelling of Yeonpyeong Island or the 2017 missile crisis — Washington and Seoul avoided retaliation that would escalate. The risk of nuclear war enforced restraint.
In the 2010s, this deterrent structure created a grim kind of equilibrium. The North could provoke, test missiles, and even commit limited acts of violence without triggering full-scale conflict. The South, for all its conventional superiority, was strategically handcuffed. For Pyongyang, this was the perfect defensive posture: weak in every material measure, yet untouchable.
That era of weakness is rapidly ending. Since 2023, as Russia’s war in Ukraine consumed enormous quantities of munitions, Pyongyang has found a new role: arms supplier and strategic partner. In exchange for artillery shells and rockets, Moscow has proffered advanced technologies and technical support with everything from satellite imagery and missile guidance to improvements in aircraft and armored systems.
This partnership is significant not because it transforms North Korea into a peer competitor overnight, but because it changes the trajectory of its development. For the first time since the collapse of the Soviet Union, Pyongyang has access to external expertise capable of modernizing its conventional forces.
Its focus is no longer purely on nuclear prestige but on restoring credible war-fighting capacity across the spectrum.
And heck, what do you do with some 5,000 plus soldiers returning with experience on the battlefront in Ukraine? You put them to work training others, sharing experiences, and reforming how branches of the armed forces see their roles in modern gray zone, hybrid and full-scale conventional warfare.
The consequences are already visible. North Korean media now emphasize combined-arms drills, precision strike systems, and tactical missile units. The leadership’s rhetoric has shifted from survival to readiness. The regime no longer presents itself as cornered and vulnerable, but as confident — even defiant — in its ability to deter and to fight.
This evolution matters because it alters the psychological foundation of deterrence. For decades, North Korea’s strategy was essentially reactive: survive at all costs. Its nuclear arsenal was a shield. Now, as its conventional forces improve under the protection of that shield, Pyongyang may be tempted to use them more assertively.
In deterrence theory, this is known as the stability–instability paradox: nuclear stability at the strategic level can encourage instability at the conventional one. A state that feels secure from existential threats can take greater risks in limited conflicts.
Applied to North Korea, the paradox is plain. The regime no longer needs to fear annihilation if it fires artillery across the DMZ, launches a naval raid, or tests new cruise missiles near Japan. Its nuclear deterrent may insulate it from regime-ending retaliation? As it develops the conventional means to execute small, precise, and deniable operations, the temptation to act will grow.
Historically, provocations were believed to serve multiple purposes: testing enemy resolve, extracting concessions or negotiation foundations, or rallying domestic unity. But they were always constrained by material weakness.
Now, as the country builds its conventional toolkit the ceiling on what Pyongyang might attempt rises: renewed clashes along the Northern Limit Line, drone incursions, or precision strikes against symbolic targets? The danger lies not in any one incident, but in the accumulation of confidence.
A North Korea that believes it can manage escalation — because it possesses both nuclear deterrence and credible conventional strength — is more likely to gamble. The pattern mirrors other moments in history when defensive weapons emboldened offensive actions: Israel’s confidence after acquiring nuclear capability in the 1970s, or Pakistan’s use of covert operations under its own nuclear shield.
For South Korea, this evolution upends decades of military planning. The U.S.–ROK alliance was designed to deter a numerically large but technologically outdated adversary. It now faces a more agile, networked, and risk-tolerant opponent. Missile defense, counter-battery systems, and electronic warfare become critical, but none address the deeper problem: a North Korea increasingly confident in its ability to fight below the nuclear threshold.
So who was listening? Well, it was a former student pouring the wine… But she did remember that I talked on the same subject five years ago and had very different views. Well, consistency ain’t everything. You gotta be open-minded and willing to change if you want to be a good analyst!
North Korea has now long been a “nuclear problem”. But the more urgent challenge will soon be its conventional renaissance. Nuclear deterrence froze the peninsula for two decades but a conventional revival will rapidly thaw it.
